Trovatiara
by I'm Nova
Summary: John is more than ready to suffer through ballet once for his girlfriend. The experience is, to say the least, life-changing. For H.I.A.T.U.S. ' challenge: Balletlock.


_Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. A.N. Sherlock's troupe is inspired by The Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo (actually an American ensemble), specifically the Program A that they'll dance in London in September. The story's title is the title of the pirate piece Sherlock dances, in case you're curious. And yes, I know my choice makes the timeline all wibbly wobbly. It's AU already, please forgive me. And, I hope, enjoy!_

Trovatiara

John is a people pleaser. It doesn't even appear that he finds it a chore, which is one of the reason he makes so many conquests so easily. Maybe he should thank his dad for all the practise in hiding his bisexuality from him. Pretending to like whatever stupid show or hobby his girlfriend of the moment likes, in comparison, is dead easy.

When Sarah – athletic, smart, fellow med student, and probably just a smidge above his level (not in grades, but in beauty) – starts raving about ballet, and how she had wanted to become a professional dancer as a child, before realising that it would take over her life completely, he nods at the right times. Hums in a very expressive way. And mentally takes note to find some tickets to a ballet performance for their next date.

That plan proves to be harder than he'd thought. For one, tickets cost more than he would have expected. And besides, it seems that for some reason every performance has been completely booked for months. Damn. Why do people even plan things so far in advance? They could even have a car accident and be in a coma when the day comes. (Ok, ok, this is unfair and plain bitter – but it's the frustration talking.)

The official show out of the question, John tries to find something similar if at all possible. He's surprised to discover that the university has a ballet club – how did he miss it? Shouldn't there be pretty girls swarming together for him to take notice of? Never mind that. The club is advertising a spectacle inspired by what looks like a French company, and the first piece in the program is named after some bird. The aspiring doctor is pretty sure that there's something famous to do with birds and ballet, so he plans to bring his girlfriend to that show. Never mind that it's amateurs dancing, Sarah will appreciate it, surely.

That'll teach him to research before jumping to any conclusions. Which is also an important lesson for someone in the medical field, now that he thinks about it. The reason John has never noticed pretty girls pirouetting is that the dancers are all male. Well, one or two could fool you, if they tried. But these young men are clearly here to have fun, and the costumes they wear, despite being conceived for women (not that John is an expert, but going by the amount of lace, feathers and various frills, he feels entitled to an educated guess) do not hide what they actually are at all. Ooops.

This is not the romantic performance he'd hoped for. Though it is – and this is unexpected as well – hilarious. Still, Sarah doesn't seem to appreciate their style, despite the fact that the actual, technical dancing is breathtaking to her boyfriend's uninitiated mind. He made sure to come early and secure first-row seats, and now he can see the dancers' muscles shift in a way that his anatomy concerned mind appreciates. (Of course he's thinking of anatomy. For some reason, being entranced by this makes the muscle groups seem much more memorable than in any dissection.)

Whether because she doesn't like her favourite show being parodied, or because John – who was supposed to be doing this for her – is enjoying himself way too much, Sarah storms away not long after. And he lets her go, because why not, girlfriends are a dime a dozen, he's never had trouble finding another one. It was the keeping that was the problem. And that can wait until the end of this.

Especially when after an intermission the show turns into a pirate tale. If at first John was too overwhelmed to pick favourites, now his eyes barely leave one particular dancer. He's never been an autograph collector, but he knows that he needs to see him a lot closer. And preferably in private.

So, once the performance is finished, he confidently walks towards the dressing rooms (it's not hard to figure out the layout of the place). He queues with a few enthusiastic fans, but they seem to storm off pretty upset in seconds. Do the dancers keep a rabid dog backstage to discourage conversations or what?

He knocks on the first dressing room door he finds, and it contains exactly the man he's fixated upon. Sometimes luck is on his side. He puts on his best smirk, and instead of fawning, he declares, "You owe me a girlfriend."

"It's hardly my fault if you couldn't research what we were inspired by or didn't care enough about your partner to follow her. Though I commend your taste in staying for something you wouldn't normally have picked," the slender brunet retorts, looking defiantly at him.

"Commend? Which century did you come from?" John teases gently, doing his best to keep his gaze on the other's (iridescent, damn, he's never seen anything like that) eyes. Still dressed in skin-tight dancing attire, his companion is not making it easy for him.

"Don't switch subjects now. I cannot get you a girlfriend, not that you want one given your behaviour earlier, but I can get you what you're obviously really after," the dancer says, leaning back against the small table in the room.

"And what would that be?" the would-be doctor asks, voice suddenly gone slightly hoarse.

"A boyfriend. Or at least, a hook-up. Someone to assuage what you still think is curiosity with," the taller boy replies, shrugging nonchalantly as if he's not mentioning what John has pretended doesn't exist for so long. "Now, the only question is: who are you after? Jim? Victor? Philip? Or maybe someone else? If you can describe to me the role they played, I can definitely introduce you to them."

John cannot help it. Hearing the offer, he sniggers. At the other's glare, he remarks, "Sorry, but – do a lot of people use you as middleman? And above all, are they all blind?"

The dancer blushes, quite adorably if you ask John, before grousing, "Believe me, you don't want me."

"I'd thank you to allow me to pick my own crushes, ta very much. You were the most gorgeous out there, so why would I settle for anyone else?" If they're going to discuss this openly, the blond is going to go along with it and make his point. It's not like his dad is in ambush behind the door.

"Because you're studying medicine, funded by the army, and you come from a homophobic family, all reasons to find a lover who knows how to keep quiet instead of one that instinctively blurts out everything he deduces. I won't make it easy for you to hide, and not because I'm being difficult on purpose. My brother always deplores how I seem to never have developed a mouth-brain filter," the other rattles out, all in a breath.

"I'm pretty sure I would have noticed if someone gorgeous like you had stalked me, you know. So, how can you know that, Mr. Pirate? Or do you prefer lady Pirate?" John retorts, frowning.

"Sherlock will do," the dancer snorts. "And it's all obvious."

It sounds like an outrageous declaration, but once Sherlock starts detailing what clued him in to the other's situation – it _is_ obvious. Like connecting the dots in a children's puzzle. Which is a bit terrifying, because the future doctor thought he was much better at dissembling, but also… "Amazing!" He breathes it out reverently.

This time Sherlock is the one frowning. "Are you serious?"

John is puzzled now. Why would anyone doubt him? His new acquaintance must hear it like ten times an hour, certainly. "Of course I'm serious! That you can do this at a glance is basically wizardry! I bet you'd be a Ravenclaw," he says enthusiastically.

If the boy's slow blink and vacant stare is anything to go by, Sherlock is not a Rowling fan. John rubs his nape in embarrassment. "Not a Potterhead, uh? I should have guessed. Too ordinary for you probably."

Apparently they've loitered too long, because someone – John is almost 70% sure it's another dancer, but to be honest he was quite focused on Sherlock during the show, brunets as short as himself barely registering – enters the room without so much as knocking, and immediately starts grumbling, "You've not finished changing yet? Is this…person being a hindrance?" From his tone of voice, it's clear the new arrival uses person the way other people use bug or scum.

Of course, that makes the blond's temper flare. He would not be so brazen usually, but now he snaps, "Oh, believe me, I'm _not_ stopping Sherlock from undressing."

The newcomer's glare is very satisfying. Less satisfying is when he turns to Sherlock and reels off, dramatically bringing his hands to his chest, "Dove, you didn't tell him about us?"

The dancer only snorts. "For the umpteenth time, Jim, and you know I loathe repeating myself: cut it out with the weird pet names. And there's no us. We dance together because you're damn good at that, but I'm not going out with you, not now and not ever."

John can't help himself. He grins at seeing this Jim character put in his place. Especially when the man pouts.

"You didn't end it properly, Lock. Why didn't you?" Jim downright whines.

"Properly?" the curly haired boy echoes, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not dating _anyone_ ," Jim huffs, emphasizing the last word.

John snickers at that. "Well, I'm not the deductive genius here, but even I can figure the meaning of such an omission out."

Jim waves his words away, like annoying flies. "Don't be stupid, it's perfectly impossible for an embodiment of Art like him to be interested in the likes of you."

"Well, why don't you let him decide?" John retorts, shrugging at the same time as he takes a step forward – very much getting in Jim's space.

"I told you before, you don't want someone like me. I don't hide," Sherlock cuts in. Did everyone have to come in his changing room to make a fuss?

"Well, maybe I'm tired of hiding. Maybe you're so awesome I would want to show you off. Seriously, who wouldn't? And I have years before the army will snatch me away besides. Bless medicine for taking so fucking long. I'll worry about what my officers think when I am in camp, but honestly, if they are annoying I'll just unleash you on them. I firmly believe that you'd find any existing blackmail material in the blink of an eye," the future soldier declares, smirking.

"We're kicking him out, right, Lock? I can help you out with that," Jim says, looking at his dance partner almost pleadingly.

"I'm kicking everyone out. I need to think, and nobody could do that in this chaos," Sherlock huffs, shooing them with his hands.

Jim struts away first, sure that displaying compliance would give him extra points in his partner's books.

"Sorry," John mumbles, hurrying to follow…when a hand grasps his forearm and stops him in his tracks.

"One moment," Sherlock snaps, "I need your number…in case my deliberation ends up determining that you're worth a chance."

The blond is only too happy to obey, and leaves the changing room with the biggest grin on his face. He's half sure that he won't ever be contacted – because, to be honest, the dancer isn't just a genius, but generally so out of his league that it isn't even funny. Instead, a couple of days later, he gets a text. An invitation. An earthquake wouldn't make him miss the meeting.

Astonishingly, the first words out of his new flame's perfect lips are, "I didn't think you'd really come."

"Why on Earth wouldn't I?" the aspiring doctor retorts, an eyebrow raising almost to his hairline. He takes a seat in front of his date.

"I told you all the reasons you might not want to date me. I assumed that in the meantime you would have realised I had a point. That I wasn't worth the trouble," Sherlock says, shrugging. He's not wearing skin-tight dancing attire anymore, but a t-shirt with a chemistry pun under a hoodie. He's still breathtaking.

John can't help it. He snickers at the sheer absurdity of the idea. "If I thought that, I'd have to be sectioned. To be perfectly honest, I thought you'd realise I wasn't what you wanted, as soon as I was out of sight."

"And give up my chance to secure a soldier boyfriend? Unlikely," the other retorts, a hungry gleam in his eyes.

"I'm really happy that's what you like, because I will absolutely be a soldier…eventually. I need to become a doctor first, though. And this is a thought that has haunted me from the first time I saw you, but – will you help me review anatomy?" The med student winks.

"I suppose I can make the sacrifice," Sherlock quips. Thankfully, a waiter finally comes to ask what they want, before he can forget where they are and start 'reviewing' on the spot.

…Months later, a much happier, open John will come up to Sarah out of the blue to thank her earnestly. She's right, ballet is awesome. All he receives is an eye roll, and a gentle push towards his boyfriend. After all, Sarah has her own to enjoy (Henry is adorable, really – if rather puppylike).

 _P.S. I have to share that, checking Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo's website, I mistook the name of the London theater where they will be (the Peacock) for the name of a piece...and I so wanted to have Sherlock dance that! ;D_


End file.
